


The Old That is Strong

by BairnSidhe



Series: Wanderers [4]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Boromir Lives, Boromir gets a Headslap, Boromir needs a Headslap, Care and keeping of Hobbits:Road Trip Edition, F/M, GDIME, Gen, Greatly condensed to get three books in one fic, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, You may not keep your vague 'evil dark skinned people' trope
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-08-08 09:21:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 19,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7752052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BairnSidhe/pseuds/BairnSidhe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Picking up immediately after Not All That is Gold, Chris finds herself and her husband thrown into yet another battle for the fate of Arda.  If this were a few decades earlier, it'd be a day at the office.  As it is, Timey-Wimey stuff happened and now she's living another GDiME trope.  Sigh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Timey-Wimey, wait, wrong fandom

**Author's Note:**

> As promised, the first chapter. I'll try to update this more regularly, if not as frequently as I did All Those Who Wander.

Chris groaned and stood.  And saw the tipped pillar and the deadly trinket of a ring on the floor.  Looking around she saw faces she knew, some of whom had not been there in book or movie, this council held representatives of Harad, and the East.

“Kili,” she said to her prone husband.

“Five more minutes, Megris,” he mumbled.

“You don’t have that kind of time.  Because we aren’t in 2965 anymore.”

“WHAT???”

“Apparently Mahal can do time-trips too.  Or Eru might be behind it, but Boromir is looking a little aggro right now and I don’t want to kill him, he’s not scheduled to die yet, and well, it’s the Not That Fish Rule.”

“No big changes?”

“No, that’s the Butterfly Rule, Not That Fish is no killing anyone who is important later.”

“Ah.  I suppose we’d best introduce ourselves, then?”

“Eh, forwards isn’t as bad as back,” Chris pulled her husband upright.  “I’m Princess Christiana of Erebor, this is my husband, Prince Kili.  Boromir, put that sword back, jeesh, you are so temperamental, got it from your dad, probably.”  She scanned for specific familiar faces.  “Hello Legolas, sorry to drop in unannounced.  Valar, you know, they just never give you warning.  Oh, Gimli, your beard got so big!  Last time I saw you… Gimli, put down your father’s best axe, you are embarrassing Erebor.  I go to all the trouble to rebrand us and this is how you behave at the fucking _Council of Elrond_?”

Gimli took the axe from her neck and swung overhand at her.  Chris sighed and put his back to stone.

“It’s her,” he said from the floor.  The room heaved a sigh of relief.

“Seriously?”

“Hadta be sure.  Last anyone saw you looking like that, you were vaporized by an evil wizard.”

“That is a fair point,” Kili added, “and of all who know the trick of it, you’re the only one who rolls her eyes when deflecting axe blows with bare hands.”

“Um, pardon, but her hands are not bare,” said a small voice.  Chris turned to see Frodo.  “They’ve claws and magnolia flowers on them.”

“Oh,” Chris looked at the defensive hair combs.  “Sorry, I was planning on perforating the satanic Santa.  He was a faster draw than expected.”  She slipped the rings loose and snapped shut the clasps that held the steel knuckle guards, that were indeed shaped in the hard swirls of magnolia blossoms, closed.  Repining her hair with them, she poked an elbow at the ring.  “Be a dear and pick that up will you, Frodo?  Bagginses show a marked resistance.  Kili, Gimli, get the pillar?”

The two Dwarves instantly pulled the pillar upright, and Frodo hesitated.  Kneeling before him as she would sit in the dojo, she put her head lower than his.  Looking up at him she reached for his shoulders.  Both sides, in case.

“No Morgul injury.  That’s good.  Even Kili still has a cold spot where he got his, and if you’d been struck it would be fresh.  No weakened resistance to the evil, Kili, get back you moron.”

“I… how did you know?”

“How do I know when Megis got on top of some stupidly high thing?” she asked rhetorically without turning.  “Step away from the Bling of Doom, Kili.  You too Gimli, your father would beat me to death with his prosthetic foot if I let you touch that, you know where that thing’s been.”  She turned to level glares at them both and took a moment to check Boromir.  No fever gleam, although he was looking at the ring. 

“In the history of that ring, only one held out against it for any length of time.  Sauron forged it and only death parted them, Isildur took it and had, what a day’s hike up to destroy it before he changed his mind?  A Hobbit-ish creature named Smeagol murdered his cousin for it moments after seeing it and then went mad.  Lesser rings completely corrupted Kings of Men, and I think it is no coincidence susceptibility to dragon sickness is greater in the lines that took the Dwarven Rings of Power.  Before anyone totes out the old Elven superiority line, let me remind you, none of your kind ever held a tainted ring, and Galadriel, sweet and wise, can become a monster when angered, are we really willing to risk that?”  Looking at faces around the circle, Chris turned back to Frodo.  “Only one, in all its history has willingly parted with it.  Bilbo Baggins.  That line, for whatever reason, is strong in the face of that which brings the mighty to their knees.  You are of that line.  Therefore, you, of all here, are the only one who can touch it.  Put it back, Frodo Baggins.”

Frodo swallowed heavily, but he bravely set the gold band back on the pillar.

“Apologies for being here when not invited, Lord Elrond,” Kili said diplomatically.

“I don’t believe they are needful, not when Valar have their hands on the threads of your fates,” Elrond said.  “I have had much time to think if perhaps another with Sight was brought forth to compensate for my own shortcomings.”

“I do not believe it was for that purpose, if it helps, Lord Elrond,” Chris told him.  “I saw only the most possible pathways, and even had I done nothing success was already a very likely outcome.  I only polished some edges as far as the grander design.  Much of my work lay in bettering the lives of individuals.”

“And for that you have my thanks,” added Aragorn, from where he held hands with Arwen.

“I see your mum came around,” Chris said, one eyebrow up at the blatant PDA.

“Indeed, Lady Gilraen felt her age upon her last summer and we are now betrothed,” Arwen said levelly, but the glitter of her eyes told Chris she knew she was being on the border of appropriate.  “We had a wedding in the ways of her people, but must wait until Estel fulfils his destiny to be wed in the ways of mine.”

They shared a look of commiseration, before Chris directed herself back at the purpose of the council.  “And so has it been agreed the Ring must be unmade?”

Elrond and Gandalf sighed, and Boromir started talking about use of power, and Aragorn shifted uncomfortably.  She let them talk in circles for a while before sighing, walking over to Boromir and slamming his forehead into her knee.  She checked him for concussion and then looked very solemnly at him.

“Apologies, Lord of Gondor, you sounded uncomfortably like a man in the throes of dragon sickness, not wishing to part from a treasure you know to be poison.  Sometimes a nice sharp whack knocks the common sense back into alignment.”

“But is it indeed poison, oh Sabi Rose?” asked a Haradi chieftain.

“It has turned on every master who ever held it save the one who discarded it,” Chris said, and slipped a hand into her leather pouch, before deciding she could do this one straight, since she only wanted one stanza. Humming a bar or two of Arizona Sword, she sang and it echoed in the courtyard, high and pure and unlike the thundering Black Speech warning Gandalf gave in all ways save that everyone shut up to hear it.

“They say the ring vanished clean away, for ne’er has been heard of it to today,

But seek it wisely and find you may.  Take care you who would be King,

Beware tyrant, and beware fool, for who is the master and who the tool? 

Ye may yet serve but ye shall not rule, Arda’s master Ring.”

“This does not change the fact that to destroy it, it must be taken to the heart of our Enemy’s strength, straight into his arms,” insisted Théodred.  "As Lord Boromir pointed out prior to your arrival, with ten thousand men this could not be done,"

“That’s why it’s a good plan; we don't have ten thousand men, we have one me,” Chris smirked.  Kili tapped her shoulder.

“You haven’t taught that one yet, he doesn’t know.”

“Ah, yes, well, I do love teaching.  Please attack me, Marshal of the Riddermark.”

“What?” Théodred stammered.

“Attack me.  Use what you will, I shall use only hands.”

Urged on by several people who had seen her fight, he rose to come at her.  Chris dropped low under a swipe with the flat of a blade then dug a finger under his rib into the gallbladder and hammered her other fist above his kidney.  Théodred dropped in pain.  She looked down at him.  “Never is anyone more dangerous than when they stand inside your arms, Prince.  You hurt now, but I could have chosen to land that blow fatally, to body or to pride, as I know where to hit to force the emptying of your bladder or the ending of your life.  Get me but inside the reach of an enemy, and I shall strike him down.”

It was generally agreed that the ring must be destroyed, and Chris brought up containment.

“It won’t do to just put it on a chain that might come loose or be stolen, or provide unnecessary temptation.”  She really did try not to eye Boromir, but she must have failed, as he turned rather red.

“What do you suggest, Princess?” Legolas asked her, he might not be fighting with Gimli, but the presence of the ring made everyone sharper than they should be.

“Actually, Bofur came up with that one,” Kili said, “back when we were, you know what, never mind why that was a topic, he said stick it in a lead ingot.  Not like molten lead will hurt it any, or be much of a prize to steal, and encased it can’t be worn to tip the hand any.”

“An ingot would be far too heavy,” protested Boromir.  “I concede the points, but just _look_ at our prospective ring bearer…”

In truth Frodo was looking a little peaky.  Knowing Hobbit metabolisms Chris guessed it was low blood sugar and pulled a packet of animal-cracker shaped lembas out of her pouch.  When he held up the little Oliphant, she shrugged.  “I have children,” she explained.

“What about a coin?” suggested Ulthas, the Lord of the East who represented the Coalition of Eastern Men.  Chris had a bit of a giggle about that inside, especially learning his grandfathers were Borthas and Ulmach.  “One in the style of northern Rhun, with the little square holes.  They’re thick enough you could hide a ring in one without drawing undue attention, but small enough to thread on a chain.”

“The Sabi Rose specifically said not to use a chain.  A dower stitch is better,” declared Suladân and Chris repressed another giggle, mainly because the Battle Oliphant Captain better known as the Black Serpent was on their side this time.  And arguing in favor of embroidery as a defense.

“I agree,” Arwen said.  “With the holes you describe, Lord Ulthas, it could easily be sewn to a piece of clothing unlikely to be stolen while the Ring-bearer yet lives.  An undergarment, perhaps.”  Give a girl proper motivation (like not being able to climb her husband like a tree until this was over) and it seemed even Elf-maids got in on the action.

Plans continued to be made and refined, and although it was smoother sailing than the original versions, it was also a bit boring, and Chris let her eyes wander.  She saw Merry and Pippin sharing a look of exasperation, one she knew quite well from living aside women who had to deal with Durin males on a daily basis.  “All right,” she called out, apropos of nothing in the main council.  “I know you think we missed a giant problem, and I want to get this done so I can go home, so out with it.”  Silence and quizzical looks followed.  “Meriadoc Brandybuck, Peregrin Took, my patience grows thin, get out of that tree right now or I’ll make Farmer Maggot and his dogs look like baby bunnies, Samwise Gamgee, if you honestly think I don’t know you’re around here too, your name fits better than ever thought, you half-wit.”

Three Hobbits appeared in front of her.  “Begging your Pardon, Majesty,” Sam began.  Chris held up a hand.

“Majesty is for Kings and Queens and unless Gimli was very, _very_ remiss in telling me something, I don’t qualify.  Something like twenty-seven people have to die before Kili could inherit, because of our marriage, including my niece and nephew.”  Gimli shook his head and then subtly tapped the corners of his mouth with his thumbs and forefingers together before tapping his belly seven times with his right thumb.  A sworn secret and the Line is stable.  “So technically,” she continued as though she had not just been passed information, “I’m a Highness, but I prefer my given name.  Call me Chris, you’re less likely to get hit up the head from reflex.  But I admire your stealth and dedication, and I respect the skill set Meriadoc and Peregrin bring to the table.  Please, gentlehobbits, share your thoughts freely.”

“I’m not entirely sure you know Merry and Pippin, to talk about skill sets,” Frodo told her only to get an elbow in a rib.

“Who else in Arda is better at breaking, mangling, blowing up, and otherwise ruining the most perfectly laid plans?” Chris asked.  “My sources tell me Peregrin is a particularly adept Murphyonomancer.”

“A what now?” demanded Gandalf, as Pippin puffed up.

“A manipulator of Murphyonic forces, the things that cause whatever _might_ go wrong to, in fact, go wrong.  I’d quite like to have someone raining down the Laws of Murphy upon Sauron.  Barring him causing a random structural collapse of Barad-Dur and the simultaneous heart failure of every living servant of Mordor, I’ll take pointing out the critical flaws that could destroy our plan, should we encounter an enemy Murphyonomancer.”

Pippin seemed less pleased now that she’d explained it, but neither he nor Merry could deny they had those skills.  “Well, first, you’ve been planning one force, a big’un too, all tall folk and Dwarves and only Frodo to carry the cursed bauble thing.  A good and proper plan for maximum usage of, you called them Murphyonic forces?  Well, to best use them, you need to split the force, and not just once, neither.  Send out two companies, so they have to split themselves, or chose who has the ring.  Then have _those_ parties split up when they see pursuit.  Like when we liberated those carrots off Maggot a year or two back, Merry, split the trail.”

“Huh.  Not half bad, Pip.  How well known d’ya think it is that the only person who can safely hold it is a Hobbit?”

“That would depend,” Chris said.  “Legolas, have you encountered the Gollum creature?  Small, pale, always talking about ‘the Precious’?”

“Yes, he was almost killed by a baby spider we missed in the clean-up.  Those eggs last a bizarrely long time.  Father was trying to heal him when he ran, southward, I believe.”

“Coppers to croissants Saruman and thereby Sauron, know about Hobbits carrying the ring.  Also, I believe you may have been chased by a dark rider?  If they saw you, it’s likely they’ll pass word that Hobbits hold it.  It’s unlike them to overthink matters like Hobbits being different individuals.  Racists and evil jerks in bed sheets go hand in hand, so I’d wager they assume everyone who happens to be short and barefoot south of the Brandywine is a viable target.”

“Then we should split the available Hobbits,” Merry said.  “Increase the ways a ring might go.”

“Alright then,” Chris agreed, “but I’m saying right here when things get hairy and nasty, I want Sam near Frodo.  That ring eats up goodness and light, and one Hobbit can only hold so much before it takes the last and we get a Gollum situation.  Frodo is better off with Sam near him.  There’s a synergy of goodness, each will fight the harder for having the other to fight for.”

The plans were further revised, well into the night.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris puts some more time into prep, hits some sore spots and learns Hobbits can be as sneaky as wizards.  
> Boromir learns of what his fate could have been and must chose his next steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For kinpandun and onlyonemirkwoodprincess. Feedback is life.

Chris insisted on joining the Fellowship side of things, and nobody protested.   She snickered for reasons she would not explain when the other group got called the Alliance and muttered about brown coats and independents rising again.  Other preparations had to be made, so she watched the group to strengthen lines.  Legolas, Aragorn and Gimli appeared to have already developed strong bonds, not surprising given the number of slip-ups she’d had around at least two of them, and consciously working towards eliminating Elf and Dwarf hatreds, and she’d seen them training together.  The Hobbits seemed to have banded together against the Tall Folk, despite knowing they would part soon enough.  Boromir hung on the outer edges until she had enough of his moping about the end of the reign of the Stewards, and the general agreement against using the Ring.  Grabbing him by the collar, she yanked him off balance in a bum’s rush and marched him up to Frodo and Sam, who were engaged in an argument with Merry and Pippin about trail rationing.

“Training time, boys.  Boromir, you’ll provide my demonstration opponent, since you are tall as all fuck and they need to watch me fight from below.  Sam, Frodo, Merry, Pippin, watch me, and see how I move.”

“What weapons will we be…” Boromir began.

“Nope,” she said, popping the p sound.  “We’re working up.  We have some time before we go, and we’ll train daily in the basics of body combat until we leave.  The body is one weapon that cannot be taken from you.  Turned on you, yes, taken, no.  Then on the road we’ll add in staff work since walking sticks will be common for us to have out and easier than a blade.  When those forms are deemed satisfactory, we’ll do swords, knives and other blades.”

Sam’s eyes went wide.  “I don’t think I could use a blade, begging your pardon ma’am.”

“You garden, don’t you?  What is the difference between a thresh-pole and a glaive? A bit of curve and some extra blade upon the one you know how to use to cut grain.  How is a sickle a thing you use, and a kukuri knife something you can’t?  Do you never use conkers to discourage rabbits?  Have you never taken a hoe to a gopher mound or mole hill?  You’ll get there, Sam.”

“But if I do, will I still be _me_?” he asked plaintively.  It was a fair question.  Any way this quest fell out, and he would change, but she did not believe it was a fair argument that he would no longer be himself.

“You will be but a you that has opened his eyes and strengthened his arms and soul.  Samwise the Gardener is not so very different from Samwise the Brave.  And you _will_ become him, as bravery becomes you,” she said gently, letting the word play soften the news.

“How can you be so sure of who everyone is and what they become,” snapped Boromir.  “You said yourself your sight is limited.”

“I know that _Sam_ will become _brave_ ,” she replied evenly, knowing the source of his anger, “because if he does _not_ become brave, Frodo will _die_.  A thousand tiny choices that he has ahead, each taking its own turning in the river of time, obscuring my sight and I’ll admit to this limit, but each choice is easier to make than the last, for the dangers become greater, the risks higher, and the only path that does _not_ lead to the death of one he cares for is one where he becomes brave.  He has already made small choices that lead to great bravery for this devotion, so I can logically assume he will continue to do so.  Small acts of bravery can grow into heroic acts when you set before you the path of defending someone.  If you cannot comprehend learning bravery to save one as dear to you as breath, then I truly pity your brother in his desolation.”

Boromir flinched.

Chris walked them through blocks and strikes and a few throws that were not much more than helping a charging opponent redirect himself to the ground.  “Good, you _might_ get away with that on someone who does not know what to look for.  Now do it faster, and don’t telegraph, in case your opponent _isn’t_ a half blind drunk.”  She taught them to fall properly and the best ways to get out of grapples. “If you don’t slap the ground to spread force, you’ll be a sitting duck when the thing that put your back to stone comes to finish the job.  Again!”  She worked them mercilessly, pulling on Dwalin’s stubborn stone teachings and Asano Sensei’s whip fast lightning taunts.  “Orcs don’t break for tea, get back up!”

“Oh for pity’s sake,” Boromir said after a particularly rough toss sent Pippin into some bushes.  “Give the halflings some rest.  What did the little ones ever do to earn this?”

Chris watched Frodo pull Sam up while Merry dislodged Pippin.  “They did nothing to earn it, no one has ever _earned_ the need for this.  However, because of the paths they will travel along, they needed to be prepared for the harshest of realities.  And _you_ needed to be reminded why we fight.  I had hoped the extra forces at Osgiliath would render this lesson unnecessary.  That we could keep the toll low enough that you do not turn away from light in search of a power that is essentially pointless.  That _thing_ ,” she hissed, “renders the wearer invisible.  That’s it.  In the hands of the one who made it, maybe, only maybe it could be coaxed to greater powers, but in mortal hands?  Invisibility, and no more.  Which would be great, except it has a fatal weakness in that it only makes the bearer _more_ visible to our enemies.  Aside from the fact it would only end up using one who would seek to rule it, betray any who held it when it felt the time was right, it’s the exact opposite of a double edged sword.  It only cuts the Free Peoples, never our enemy.”

“I know that,” he insisted.

“And yet, the things I have seen you say, in this path, in all other paths I saw, you see it only as a power to be used to strike back.  I understood that in the path where Gondor held back the tide alone, where Osgiliath was taken and re-taken in an endless cycle of death.  I felt for you, for your struggle to contain the greed it incites.  So I changed the path.  Gondor did not stand vigil alone, unless I utterly failed in my every attempt to shield you from that lonely road.  You had allies, the Garrison to fight beside you, signed pacts of peace preventing an attack upon you from the south, a vigilant Rohan guarding you from the North.  I did all in my power to protect you, Lord Boromir.  All I could to keep bitter anger and fear from giving that dreadful trinket a hold on you.  And in _that_ , I did utterly fail, much to my own pain,” she said, voice lowering.  “Now, all I have left to me is damage control.  The more you see Frodo and Sam and Merry and Pippin, in place of “the halflings”, which is fairly insulting by the by, they are not half of anything, they are Hobbits, the more that happens, the better.  The more you can look at Frodo and see a _person_ , a small, brave, noble _person_ , instead of “the ring bearer” you resent for his burden, the _less_ likely you are to die full of arrows and regrets in a pool of your own blood and besmirched honor on the banks of a river as Uruk-Hai abduct your companions.  I can tell you who, or rather _what_ , will control you if you fail to control _yourself_ , Lord Boromir,” she told him, her voice now barely a sound on her breaths.  She watched his face pale.  She’d hit home.  “I think we’ve engaged in rather enough fighting for now,” she continued at a higher volume.  “I’m going to cool down so I don’t get cramps, feel free to stay.”

The Hobbits stayed, Boromir did not.  After relaxing her body, she fell into the seated position she liked best to meditate and began to clear her mind from the verbal confrontation that had taken as much if not more from her than the physical training.  There was nothing pleasant or beneficial about such a fight, unless it was happening on his end, thinking on her words.  She brought her mind to a calm spot in the middle of the typhoon of her thoughts and feelings.  When the storm had died down in the face of her immovable resolve, she noticed Frodo sitting as she did, watching her.  Merry and Pippin were mostly asleep in similar postures and Sam had taken up a weary guard on the entrance to the garden.

“Why do you watch me, Frodo Baggins?”

“Why did you tell Boromir he would die?”

“Answering a question with another question, I see.  Bad habit brought on by long exposure to wizards I’d bet, but I’ll indulge.  I told him what I did, because it is a truth, but a preventable one.  Sometimes you need to rub the truths they don’t want to see in your friends faces, because it is important to call a spade a spade and an evil an evil.”

“Gandalf doesn’t seem to care much for you.”

“Gandalf would be very happy if I locked myself away and never interfered with this world.  He likes being the best and strongest defense.  He would bow to Saruman when they were younger, purer, but he liked feeling right, feeling like the Deus Ex Machina, the fire and wind that saves the day at the final hour.  He isn’t alone in that purpose anymore.  I sought out his fellow wizards and set them back on stronger paths.  Radagast even now speaks with the Ent-moot, the Blue Wizards of the East teach powerful defenses against evil to those who live there.  Rohan has fallen under no sorcery to influence its king, and the Uruk-Hai of Isengard are most likely not as well-crafted or equipped, because no-one in Rohan has trusted Saruman farther than they can kick him since Thengel was crowned.  The Haradrim Armies have not fallen to Sauron; the East provides no fresh bodies to fuel his war.  The Greenwood is indeed green again, and the weaknesses of our enemy’s strongest lieutenants are known.  I don’t claim sole credit, but I know that there are actions I chose to take that altered much.  He knows it too.”

“You wouldn’t think a wizard would get jealous.”

“We all have our weaknesses,” Chris told him.

“And what are yours?”

“Why should I reveal my weak points?”

“Answering a question with a question,” he teased.

“I also suffer from over exposure to wizards.  Very well.  Anger and fear.  My fears make me vulnerable, my anger makes me dangerous.  Sometimes I cut too deeply, trying to remove rot that scares me and makes me mad.”

“Like telling Boromir he would die in dishonor.”

Chris nodded.  “The cancer had to be removed or it would kill him.  But what I did was rough cowboy surgery, not oncology.  It got the job done, but may have cost me any good will he might have given me.”

“Was it worth it?”

“Ask me again after Parth Galen, upon the Anduin.”

He nodded a solemn nod and rose to leave.  Sam fell in step behind him and Merry woke Pippin and they headed away as well.  It was near dark when Kili found her, still thinking.

“Kurdinh, what troubles you?”  After so many years she did not deny it, or reject the hands working at her shoulders.

“I am worried my own fear may have harmed someone.  Chess is a game of battle strategy, but it is hardly preparation for actual war.  I very much expected to be an old crone by the time these troubles came to light.  I was prepared for and content in my role as the puppeteer, the web weaver pulling threads to trap enemies.  I fear my own weakness will tear the Fellowship apart.  Already it is different, Merry and Pippin leave with Théodred, Ulthas, Suladân, Glorfindel, Elrond’s sons and Thorin Stonehelm, we depart in their places beside Aragorn, Boromir, Frodo, Sam, Legolas and Gimli.  Gandalf has yet to firmly place himself.  Not one Fellowship of nine walkers, but two, and a divided set at that.”

“You made changes, and now you fear the tale will unfold in failure.  You have never doubted your own strength before, Ghivashel, what makes you fearful of it now?”  Just like Kili to see her true fears.

“I tore into Boromir.  You recall his end?”  Her husband nodded as he moved to sit in front of her.  “I tossed it in his face, the death, the dishonor, all from my own fears.  My own doubts about how it will affect me.  I was not a factor, I had no need to add myself to the equation when I laid my plans.  But the strength of Men has failed before.  It threatens to do so again.  There is no day the sun rises upon me I can say “it will not be this day.” Not with any surety.”

“Then it is good fortune you are not a man, is it not, Light of the North?” said a voice behind her.  She turned and tipped into Kili’s lap from a numb leg, to see Boromir.  “While you sat and thought of consequence, I went to those who knew you, or of you.  I heard many a strange story.  I also heard of your line.”

“SHHH, no spoilers!” Chris hissed at him.  “I intend to go home and see it all myself.”

“I’ve been assured one fact will not come as a great surprise, but will also bring a measure of comfort.  I do not believe that the mother of Commander Hama the Reborn, Hero of Osgiliath, will fall to the same darkness she has laughed at before, no matter her connection to Isildur.  If nothing else, your child’s faith gives you credit, for I have never known Hama to ill-judge a character or unbalance the scales of right and wrong for the sake of fellowship or family.  I will accept your words as wisdom, as I would from the warrior I fought beside in the siege.”  He bowed and removed himself.

“Apparently the kids are all right,” she joked weakly.

“You won’t be if you sleep out here,” pointed out her husband.  “Come on, up you get, food and bed, I have it waiting for you.”

“Food, bed, you, I think I like where this is headed.”

“Hush, you, let me pamper you some and if you still want to, well, there are no children here to interrupt.”

The lack of children did not seem to change the fact that Chris was exhausted and only able to enjoy a single round before falling asleep on Kili’s chest.  He pulled the blankets up and let himself drift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me at bairnsidhe.tumblr.com


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The journey begins, and many things are learned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by contributions from readers like you. I'd like to dedicate it to Katarat_6666_too_many_sixes, and kinpandun.
> 
> Oh, and it's a long one this time. It was two sub-sized chapters or one long chapter and I went long.

The two groups set out on different trails early the next day, saying goodbye in the false dawn an hour before real sunrise.  The Alliance of the Ring bore due south to the Redhorn pass, the original path taken by the Fellowship in all versions of the story Chris knew.  Before they departed, Glorfindel crafted illusions of other groups heading down a number of other safe paths, all of them, real and illusion, hidden under sloppy spells of concealing, letting just enough through to be seen and perhaps chased.  Chris strongly suspected the Murphyonomancers hand in that particular snipe hunt, as Meg would have called it.  Let the Nine split themselves chasing ghosts.

The Fellowship, joined at the last possible moment by Gandalf, headed south and east.  Chris cautioned against cutting through Moria directly, and so Kili led them on the high pass that was home to Stone Giants.  It wasn’t raining this time and Saruman had obviously not expected the choice to take the tricky crumbling path, especially at dawn.  But they had two Dwarves with stone sense, an Elf who delighted in slope races along the rougher edges of Erebor’s peak, and a woman who had spent the past fourteen or so years getting her child down from bizarre and absurdly high places.  Kili swung Frodo up onto his back easily, and Gimli did the same to Sam.  Legolas teased Aragorn about hauling the lanky Ranger on his Princely back, but the Ranger who would be King only stuck out his tongue and vaulted a gap with more flair than need be.  Chris shook her head about it as Legolas’ laugh rang through the mountain pass.

The most excitement to be had was on the first day, with Boromir nearly falling with both surprise and ill-luck after Chris free-climbed a wall rather than leap the gap larger than her legs wanted to try stepping.  Kili laughed at her exhibition.

“You’re just sore I’m better at free-climbing after Megis,” she informed him when he jumped to meet her.

“Megis?” Boromir asked.

“Our youngest, so far,” Chris told him.  “She’s a right terror when it comes to getting up high.  When she’s old enough I’m going to try to get her an apprenticeship working the Ravenlofts.  She got my mum’s gift for language too, so she’ll breeze through the linguistic requirements testing, probably make Raven Master young.”

“Can’t you just have her appointed?  Like Father made Faramir a Ranger Captain, and I was a General?”

“Abso-bloody-lutely not!  You _earn_ Mastery, and any evidence of royal favoritism aside from having the money for a good master during the apprentice years could get her braids thrown into doubt.  I will not make my baby girl go through the pain of a worth-trial.  She may have to work twice as hard to be seen as half as good, but by Eru and Mahal, Megis will _earn_ her honors.”

“Calm yourself, Lady Chris,” Legolas said.  “He had no way of knowing, assumptions and failure to question, remember?”

“Ah yes, pardon, Lord Boromir, Craft is very important to Dwarrow, and my children suffer enough by being too new, a thing none though possible, so I would not place Megis’ Craft status in jeopardy.  I love my children too much to hazard the repercussions.  The risk of dishonor is too high.”

“You value honor, I’ve seen,” he remarked neutrally.

“I value getting shit done,” she snorted.  “Hard to do that in _this_ world if you toss honor in the smelter.  Sure, I’ve got friends who get around that rule, but mostly, I try to keep me and mine from any shame that might stop us from doing what needs be done.”

“That’s… practical, of you.”

“I’m a practical sort of pers- NO, don’t step there!”

He reeled as her hand shot out to grab his belt, and in the same instant the stone he’d been about to commit his weight to tumbled away down the slope.  Stunned, he watched her wedge a foot in the remainder of the path, barely as wide as his hand and swing her other leg to the far edge of the gap.  When she held a hand out to him, he took it and his leap became a toss as her foot on the thin ledge came free and the two pivoted onto more sturdy rock.  She gave him a brisk nod.  A bit down the path, they found a defensible and wide spot on the path, where the two mountains met on a small valley large enough to make camp.  Kili and Gimli checked it with stone sense to ensure no goblin raids, and no Giant interference being an immediate threat before declaring it the best place to camp that night.

Mountains are cold on the outside parts, and Chris became very glad for the two-person bedroll arrangement Kili worked out, clinging to his fiery heat.  Aragorn and Legolas began the night at a decent distance, but by morning an aggrieved Gimli was pulling himself out from between a half asleep Ranger and stubbornly not a morning person Prince.  Dwarves, very handy in cold areas.  Although Frodo and Sam seemed to have done the same to Boromir, who did not like being called cute.  That did not prevent Chris from thinking it was.

On the far side of the mountain, Kili had to admit defeat.  He hadn’t traveled the path as he intended last time, so now the landscape was foreign.  Gandalf took the lead easily and led them down to a road, old and crumbling, but still a road.  Aragorn looked at the sky and called halt.  Camp was set, Sam and Chris got into a rousing discussion about the merits of sea salt versus rock salt while preparing the geese Kili and Legolas shot down.  Gimli located the best spots for tents with Boromir, teaching the younger man about soil types and how to best position a tent on an open plain.  Chris saw the tightness in Kili’s eyes and let Sam take the cooking while she suggested Frodo help him and went to her husband.

“Copper for your thoughts?”

“Gimli shouldn’t have to know that.  Any of that.  He was mountain born, the first one in Ered Luin, he lived his adult life in the safety of Erebor.  He shouldn’t have to know how to predict wind-flows and soil erosions.”

“There’s a large gap between having to and choosing to, love.  He’s a Warrior, it’s in his braids and his blood.  Wars don’t happen in safe places.  How often do you think he did a shift at the Osgiliath Garrison, or the Harad outposts, or even the Eastern reaches?  Battle calls to him as leather and arrows and bows call to you.  I saw no other braids.  He’s like Dwalin, and how far do you think anyone telling Dwalin he shouldn’t know of the outer world, the unsafe parts, would get?”

“But he’s so young!”

“Mamarralun, he’s older than you, now.  An experienced warrior in his own right.  And he’s the first of us to try to bring Boromir into the fold.  Give him the respect he earned.”

Kili sighed.  Chris bumped him with her shoulder.  “You’re not worried about Gimli,” she said.

“I’m worried about our children.  Hama’s a Commander, and I wasn’t there to cheer her before her first battle, I missed her training, I know nothing of our other children or their fates.  We weren’t there for them.”

“Why do you think a time-trip is different than a world trip?  We went home before.  We’ll kick ass, take names, and come home again.  Like always.  The only reason I’m not pestering Gimli for updates on the pebbles is that when we go home, I don’t want to change things any more than I already have.  Holding possible futures in your head is hard, and deciding when and how to act… if I knew, I’d want to meddle.  If I meddle, I might destroy a critical part of this future where I learned about the thing I destroyed.  Grandfather Paradox.  Or worse.  Sometimes things I would wish to stop, pain I would want to avoid… they’re necessary.  Like when Nuli touched the stove I’d told him not to.  Did I want him to hurt?  Of course not.  Did I have the ability to stop him?  Yes.  Was he ever going to learn that when I say ‘don’t touch that, it’s hot’ and he does there are consequences?  Not if I held him back.  He had to do it to know why I told him not to.  I’m worried, because I’ve been told not to meddle.  A thousand stories I grew up on tell me not to meddle.  I won’t risk Arda by touching the stove.”

“I understand.”  Kili ran a hand through his hair, still hardly ever containable, although his beard had grown since she met him.  He kept it trimmed on the sides in deference to his archery, the braid for which he placed in the moustache and beard proper, so everyone knew why he had bare patches from ear to dimple.  “I wish I didn’t, but I do.”

They rose early again, Chris firmly putting her foot down on the topic of breakfast.

“Do you even know what a Hobbit needs daily to just survive?  They’re like hummingbirds, they need as much food as they can eat just to keep walking.  We’re having breakfast, sit down and shut up.”

It wasn’t a large breakfast by any means, oatmeal with dried apple bits and fried bacon on the side, but it was filling and on the last bit of oatmeal she’d set aside, Chris dumped the bacon fat from the frying pan into the pot, stirred it in and split the remainder for Frodo and Sam.  Bacon grease might not be the tastiest of oatmeal additives, but the extra fats would add calories they needed.

They chose to cut south towards Lothlorien as they broke camp.  Chris watched Gimli scratch a few runes on a rock near the dead fire with char from a stick.  She looked at them and recognized Nori’s code-signs.  He saw her looking, shrugged and said “Crows”.  That was good enough for her.  Nobody knew who or even what Nori’s Crows were, only that they gave good information faster than most anyone.  If the message would help her family, she was glad of it.  Thinking a second she chose to grab her own stick and added two code-runes, Quiver and Bow.  Her code-name in the Mountain and Kili’s.  She considered asking to relay the message to Arrow-head, Shaft and Fletch, but she resisted the urge to draw her children’s code-names.

They hiked at a slow and steady pace, allowing the shorter limbed members to stay with the group, but also to let the softer, less enduring Hobbits gain some stamina.  It barely pushed some of them, like Aragorn with his long stride, or Gandalf with his seemingly endless amounts of patient energy.  For others, the pace they set was unpleasant but not hard.  For some, it was near grueling in the sheer length of walk, and the slightly higher speed than they felt comfortable at.  Several days in, Chris reflected this was much like a road-trip, only she’d never gone on one, only seen movies and shows about them.  But Sam’s sullen silences when their rests were cut short by an anxious Aragorn or a cryptic Gandalf seemed like enough to the teen in the back seat.  She made sure they always had breakfast, even if this did lead to Aragorn waking them earlier, and she ensured a steady flow of snacks to both of them, and when Sam got snarly enough she would pointedly fuss over Frodo, until he remembered why he was here.

Towards the end of the first week, days seemed to grow long even to Boromir and Legolas, and the less enduring members of the Fellowship desperately needed more rest, so they stopped on a flat place with tall grasses in the shadow of the Misty Mountains.  Everyone caught their breath, and Chris pushed more trail rations onto Frodo and Sam, an Elven jerky recipe she’d adapted over the years to last longer and retain more sustenance.  Boromir offered to help them with training, and soon much of the fellowship was giving them advice or pairing off themselves.  Chris had a sudden flash of déjà vu and yanked Kili down in a very much _not_ practice maneuver and hissed out a warning.  “Crebains, check the skies!”

Boromir looked up, let out a curse and tackled Frodo and Sam into the tall grasses.  Aragorn pulled Legolas down in their own sparring spot and Gimli tackled Gandalf.  After a tense moment a shadow passed over them, and a shriek sounded. Chris twisted to see hundreds of birds in the air, blocking out the sun.  They were… fighting.  Some she recognized as Birds of Erebor, larger, stronger.  But the bands on their tarsal bones were slim and matte black, not blue and laden with message tubes, as the messenger birds of her home wore.  Looking closely, she saw the same matte black contrasting glossy feathers in the fine lines of, was that armor along the back and wings?  Then a Crebain attempted a tackle and, no, that was not simple passive armor, she thought as the unlucky bird fell bleeding from the sky.  A dozen more fell to bladed wings and the natural weapons of beak and talon.  A large shadow above the clouds appeared from the north and the Crebains broke and fled.

The Fellowship had all stood and brushed grass away when the shadow broke free of the clouds and a small figure tumbled from the back of a young Eagle.  The Eagle swooped back up, but the person, for it did appear to be a Dwarf jogged up.

“Gimli,” the Dwarrowdam said.

“Flight Captain,” he replied.  “This give us away?”

“No.  We always engage when they cross the Misties.  Help me track the fallen?”

Gimli and the Flight Captain found the dead bodies and gathered them.  One bird was only lamed, and the laconic Dam had a short conversation in the clicking speech of corvids before snapping its neck.  “Kinder,” she explained to an appalled Sam.  Once that chore was done, she carefully looked over the company.  Her eyes lingered in sadness on Chris and Kili, but once assured of their relative well-being, she ran at the slope and used moves Chris knew to be Parkour and a touch of Elven slope racing to reach a ledge, where she whistled to her ride.

“Fly safe, Kaipiki!” Chris called up and Megis laughed until the wind stole her voice from the ground.

“We should move,” Gandalf said.  “We know not how much they saw, or took to their master.  That Saruman even sends these beasts so far from Dunland implies we are watched.”

“We can make it to the source of the Gladden by nightfall if we hurry,” Aragorn told them.  “But there is precious little time to waste if we are to be out of the eyes of any who watch this place.”

Everyone gathered their things quickly, running interspersed with a long striding jog to get them farthest fastest.  Chris saw Frodo flagging and shot a hand sign to Legolas, not iglishmêk, but Elven hand language, and the Elf swerved back to grab their ring bearer.  Aragorn, seeing this slowed to catch Sam in the same way, only to find Boromir had gotten there first.  Without wounded pride, he took the packs instead, allowing the faster legs to carry the slower members of their party unencumbered by supplies.

Kili pulled her attention to Gimli, who, while not falling back, was obviously laboring.  His gait was uneven in the jogging stretches.  His father had taught him, she realized.  Gloin was too proud to do otherwise.  And he’d learned Gloin’s compensations too.  She caught his eye and flicked both forefingers up, before translating a good marching song into small hand movements.  He huffed as she sung it low under her breath, timing the beats with her steps

Hey hey, Laddie O  
We'll climb that hill  
And we'll fight the foe

The muscled might of Erebor  
Is climbing up the hill   
with our goods of war

Hey hey, Laddie O  
We'll climb that hill  
And we'll fight the foe

Gimli laughed as he started to match the pace she set.  Legolas moved up by them to flank Gimli, since his keen ears picked up the tune.  He knew plenty of verses, the tune had been taken from a song Chris knew from her old world, but many years had changed the words.  Legolas chose the verse Dain had liked best, just to rile his friend

Heed well the Iron red  
When you see it on the field  
With the Orcish dead   
  
Hey hey, Laddie O  
We'll climb that hill  
And we'll fight the foe

Kili laughed at the look on Gimli’s face, but he knew the soft singing was helping.  To ease Gimli’s stung pride and to rib his own wife, he sang the next bit

Hail to the princess wise and fair  
The finest inspiration  
Since the Mirrormere  
  
Hey hey, Laddie O  
We'll climb that hill  
And we'll fight the foe

Chris stuck her tongue out at him.

Carting'll get you more  
When you're carting off  
The foes of Erebor  
  
Hey hey, Laddie O  
We'll climb that hill  
And we'll fight the foe

And so, teasing and humming they got to the source of the Gladden river, and set up camp in the dying light.  Gimli taught Frodo more of the song, including a few rather risqué verses, one involving a Dam whose beard went all the way down.  Which then required some explanations, and Boromir coughed and went to do border patrol with Aragorn.  Sam caught the tune first though, and hummed it as Chris showed him how to make the bagged soup she’d learned from the Elves what seemed like a lifetime ago.  _With_ noodles this time, because Alton Brown is the American Culinary God, not that she told Sam that part.

Settled down to sleep, the fire banked over a hot walking breakfast for the next day, Chris and Kili shared that kind of awed and proud conversation parents have.  Megis joined not just the Ravenloft, but Nori’s Crows.  It might not be a path they’d anticipated, but it was one they were proud of.  And even if she was working for Nori, nobody could say ‘dishonor’ when her flight partner was one of the Eagles of Manwë.  They carefully did not speak of how quiet she was nor the sadness of her eyes when she looked at them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kaipki is Maori for "Climber" and was Chris's pet name for Megis.
> 
> Apologies to Heather Dale and the entire Kingdom of Ealdormere in the SCA, but I shamelessly stole and modified the Carter's War Song. It's fantastic, listen to it here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uXL2GaTF3R0


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chris gives a little hope to the one who was named for it, Orcs are faced, friends face the reality of what a battle is for, and Gandalf remains a grump.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Annabellelee13194, AidanTurner26, and Anemira_Lynx, for kudos.
> 
> Remember, Comments Good, comments feed the muse.

Pulling still warm wraps of meats and cheese in a thin tortilla-style bread modified with the extra nutrition of Dwarven pregnancy bread from the now cold fire, Chris passed the ashy packets to each member of their company and passed Kili a canteen of cold, but very strong, coffee.  They moved with haste, but no real enthusiasm.  She saw Aragorn looking east, towards the Gladden fields.

“You aren’t him any more than I am,” she told him, taking a bite of breakfast burrito.

“I know that.  I just wonder, what was it like?  To fall like that, first in spirit, then in body?”

“None know what waits for us at the door of death, save few.  The Gift of Man came with a cost.  One man may do more in four-score and ten years than twenty Elves in two millennia.  But only because we do not know what comes next.  We drive ourselves to do it while we may.  Elves have forever, but forever can grow stagnant.  Dwarves build mighty things, but always knowing they won’t be fully accepted into Eru’s Song until long after they pass to stone and those mighty things fall.  Death is the only way to earn a way out from the discordant note, and it tinges all work with fatalism.  Why do you think so many die young and bloody?”  She shook herself at what almost happened to Kili.

“But Men know not where their path will lead once cross the veil, so we must do more, in less time, because we do not have promises of forever, or rebirth.”

“An impossibly wise, impossibly kind, and impossibly old man once told me, “Some may live more in twenty years, than others do in eighty.  It’s not the time that matters, it’s the person.”  We do more now, not because we are mortals, who don’t know what may come.  We do it because we are the people who do more in twenty years.  Legolas in his forever, Gimli and Kili in their knowledge that Mahal awaits them in his halls, Frodo and Sam, who only want to get this done and go home and not think further than the next party, they too, do more now.  But I think it no accident that there are three mortals of the race of Men among us, and two at most of the other races.  There is a fire in us, hidden and banked and sleeping, but even from ash can fire be woken.”

“And light from shadows might spring?” he asked her.

“I’ll admit I reuse what works.  And it was quite shadowy before I proposed and started glowing like Aule’s own torch.  Light can come in many forms, from many places.”  She looked at the Gladden Fields.  “We tell the tale it turned on him, slipped from him and let him die.  We know not _why_ it would chose to lay dormant those many years.  It might have sensed he would not corrupt, and left him, spirit damaged, but intact.  He might have had clarity, brief and late, but enough to abandon it and choose death over slavery.  Men have been known to face armed foes, and say give me either my liberty, or my death, I care not which.  In the end, there may _not_ be a difference, and liberty, even in death, is a kind of light.”

“You are wise, my Lady.”

“I am cryptically poetic enough to make simple logic seem wise, Future King.  I know the trick, so it is not wisdom to me, but should it inspire the hope you were named for, I shall gladly claim wisdom.”  She thought of Megis, laughing in the sky.  “Maybe it’s a mother’s gift.”

“Maybe.  I do not know if I could do as you say, choose death over durance.”

“Anything worth living for in this life must, perforce, also be worth dying for.  But by the same token, anything worth dying for, is most certainly worth living for.”

“I know not what you mean.  Your riddles lead me in circles, Lady.”

“Arwen.  You would cling to life to extend hers, but you would also shield her from Morgul arrows with your own flesh if need be.”

“Of course.”

“If you are willing to die for her, you must also fight to live for her, anything less is not love, it is selfish desire and obsession.”

“I think I grasp your meaning.”

“Now expand that to Gondor and Arnor.”

Aragorn fell silent beside her.  Chris smiled and went to give more water to Boromir, who was struggling with the near constant movement that kept them safe, but required their Hobbit companions hitch rides now and then.

Night fell hard and fast, catching them unawares.  Chris was unprepared, the path was different, there was no snow, they stood on the proper side of the mountains, Gandalf still alive.  But night hit them like a wave of darkness.  Frodo’s knees buckled and Sam draped his body over his friend to shield him.  Aragorn swore viciously.  Kili ducked under Sam to Sting’s hilt and pulled.

“Orcs!”

“Not for long,” Boromir said with grim glee, the light of gallows humor and battle readiness in his eyes where the blue glow lit them in fiendish profile.

“No, indeed,” agreed Chris and took up her place two steps ahead of her husband, who now held the little sword aloft like a torch.  Low in the grass, in the same position she’d first taught her husband when they traded lessons many years ago, she was all but invisible.  The light behind her moved, most likely to a taller ally to hold.  A shrieking wail sounded a few meters out.  Chris checked her grip on her staff and used the butt of it to gut-shot the Orc aiming at her husband with a wicked jagged blade.  A dagger flicked into her hand fast enough to impress Fili and Nori both, should they have seen it, and whisked across the Orc’s throat lightly.  Black blood seeped up slowly.  “I wouldn’t move,” she told the Orc.  “Struggle will kill you painfully.  Try to die as you could not live, peacefully.”  The song of bow-strings called her back to the fight.  Her staff laid them low, her dagger kept them there, any foolish enough to stand died choking on blood.

The light of Sting flickered, as though it could not decide if what was left was Orcish or not.  Chris pulled back into the circle about Frodo and Sam.

“Why kill them that way?” Boromir asked her.  “It seems cruel.”

“I believe in free will, choices.  To me, cruelty is what made them this way, forced into evil, their notes out of harmony with all around them from birth.  They were never given choices.  Not all I slew died choking and in pain.  I struck fully twice that.  Half of them got to make a choice to die softly, falling asleep as blood left them near painlessly.  My knives are sharp enough to give that mercy.”

“She may be called Songbird, but my wife has some softness for us discordant notes,” Kili said, wiping blood from her cheek with his sleeve as the light guttered again.

“And she is friend to those who escaped the path these were forced to,” added Legolas softly.  “We do not speak of it, but we know Morgoth’s limits.  He could not have formed them from nothing, and comparing traits has made it easy to tell what base was used when he twisted the first Orcs from their true path.  Men may become Wraiths; Elves have a different fear.”

She saw Aragorn put his hand on Legolas’ shoulder, and then the light died out entirely, leaving them alone with the dead under the starry sky.

“Nienna, Lady of Woe,” Chris intoned as Kili and Gimli led them away.  “Take unto you my grief that such a thing was needful, and take unto you the silent cries of hearts that were not allowed to mourn.  I beg you, Lady of Sorrow, have pity for the unimaginable torment of my foes and for my only way to end it.”

Silence reigned as they traveled in darkness, new knowledge in the hearts of some, fresh pain in the hearts of others.  For all he was a warrior, Gimli had never taken undue joy in death.  Glory and honor could be found in places of death, but the act of dying is easy, if painful, and there is no glory in the choking sobs or soft final sighs of one who dies.  Especially when that one had no choice but to oppose: live or die, the choice to kill so as to live was easy, and no merit is found in the easily done.  Legolas, upon being bluntly informed of a thing he knew was skirted, had not since taken joy from the deaths of those who might have been kin, had Morgoth never laid hand upon their ancestors.  Aragorn had never found happiness in battle, although he often found necessity in it, and the quiet prayer for Orcs of all things touched him deeply.  Boromir fought with his thoughts.  Some deep and unpleasant part of him wanted to take joy in the kill, they had been Orcs, the same as the kind that held Osgiliath under siege for a year and a half.  There inlay the nettle in his mind.  The same.  Orcs were all the same.  Not one of the Free Peoples could say that.  There were the good and the bad in all races.  Except Orcs.  Which only made sense if the Light of the North spoke true.  They had no chance to be good, they were forced onto his sword unwilling, for there can be no willful action where there is no choice to reject the action.  Frodo and Sam were left with a deep and lingering sadness in this knowledge, although they had yet to kill.

Gandalf approached Chris as they sat by the tiny fire at the back of a cave in the mountains.

“I had never thought to see one supplicate my Lady in the name of Orcs.”

“It’s not just Hobbits, you know, after living an age, everyone can still surprise you if you let them.”

“I am but an old man, perhaps too set in my ways.  But last I was surprised, I was betrayed by an old friend, who sent you here.  Forgive some suspicion.”

“Saruman did not send me, Tharkûn.  Unless you think he also brought me to Erebor, saved my life from weaponized pastry, and returned me upon the mountain becoming safe again.  I know the feel of the power that did all that, and have assumed it was Mahal, been assured it was Mahal.  Unless you tell me I was deceived then in one of the most long reaching cons of my life, I will swear to you it was not the sorcerer of many colors that sent me.  Unless you wish to claim a Valar brought a traitor here.  He doesn’t have the best track record with assistants, admittedly, but you should know better than to paint all with the same brush you mark your turn coats with.”

“I simply do not know why you would spare pity on those you fight,” he huffed.  “Pity has stayed hands before, and our salvation and our doom now rests on those choices, but you pity those you fight to end.”

“I do not fight to end them, Gandalf,” she said a touch too loud.  Heads snapped up sharply.  “No one does.  Not in battle.  In my web of allies and treaties and friendship, I work to ensnare them, in my teachings I strive to protect those who will face them, but in battle, no true warrior fights for any reason but one.”

“And that one reason would be what, Princess?” Aragorn asked her, eyes tight and hard with too much pain.  She clicked a button in her pocket and let the soft sound of strings played quietly fill the cave.

“Friends, Aragorn.  We fight for friends.”  And then she sang, the second voice echoing behind her by half a note and joining the cave’s echo.

“No one fights for kingdom

No one fights for gods

No one fights for hearth and home

Even when we fight the odds.

 

No one fights for power

Or what the sword defends

You fight because you want to live

You fight to save your friends

 

Land is but a pile of dirt

Gods are a mumbled thought

Honor but a poet's dream

And death is a lonely plot

 

Life is but a kind of light

Loves are moments had

Fighting friends are all you have

When a fight goes bad

 

Priests are good for convincing

Patriots are good for wind

Landlords good for taking gold

Harlots are good for sin

 

Generals are good for sending

Soldiers to meet their deaths

When you're ordered off to die

Friends are all that's left

 

Swords can shatter, bows can crack

Armor plates can fail

Spears can find the naked limb

Arrows can go through mail

 

Shields can splinter 'neath the axe

Fortress walls can rot

When it comes to life and death

Friends are all you've got

 

No one fights for kingdom

No one fights for gods

No one fights for hearth and home

Though we’ll fight the odds

 

No one fights for power

Or what the sword defends

You fight because you want to live

You fight to save your friends.”

The song ended moments after she did, the sudden quiet a living thing beside them in the cave.  Boromir broke it.  “The Dwarf on your left, that’s how it started,” he mused.  Across the fire Gimli smiled at him.

“Aye, Look to the Dwarf on your left, an’ the Man on your right, take a good look at their faces, and then go to fight.  The shield wall in front, the Elf in back with a bow, the warriors guarding who ye don’t even know.  Madness descends as ya water fields with your blood, so honor these others that limit the flood.  The Oath of the Garrison.”

“Your songs an’ poems,” Sam started, “they all seem a might over-sad.”

“Dark songs for dark times, Sam.  When we sit in a feast hall, I’ll sing you a drinking song that will make Aragorn blush,” Chris reassured him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is "Friends" from Owlflight.
> 
>  
> 
> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
> “Wars are nasty, uncomfortable things that make you late for dinner and give you choices like do you want honor, or do you want to keep living?"


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things cannot be avoided, and although Chris and Kili reaffirm their love, so too does the Bridge of Khazad-Dum reaffirm it's dangers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm taking Friday off, so here is this weeks chapter.

They faced three more nights and two more attacks.  Chris said her appeals to Nienna for each one, and soon it was expected, to the point others joined her in her prayers of peace to injured souls.  When they reached the Mirrormere, Gimli and Kili insisted on stopping, even with the day only half gone.  There was something special about the lake reflecting stars.  Legolas rolled his eyes and muttered something in Sindarin to Aragorn that made him choke on a laugh.  Gimli kicked his shin in retaliation and spoke in the same language, the flowing language sounding natural in his rough voice.  He grabbed Boromir and Sam, and said something low to them.  Sam tsked at Legolas and Frodo shook his head.  They decamped to the far side of the lake, giving Kili and Chris some privacy by the bank.

“There’s a legend, about lovers, true ones, and the Mirrormere,” Kili told her, sliding a hair comb from her hair.  “Durin did not just foresee his kingdom here, he foresaw his wife.  He saw he would have to wait for her to enter the world.  As I had to wait for you.”  He brushed her cheek.  “It was worth waiting.  They say lovers who bathe together here are destined to remain together even beyond the breaking and remaking.”

“And you want to bathe with me.  Do you think if we do, I can shed the Gift of Man?  Go to the Halls with you?”

“If any be worthy of such a forgiveness, it would be you.  If you wish it.”

“I meant my oaths when I spoke them Kili.  No Gift, even one from Eru is worth parting from you longer than needful.”

“Then wed me again, Kurdinh, Ghivashel, wed me in the most basic and real way possible.”

Chris smiled, and shucked her clothes quickly, years of child-avoiding quickies giving her skill.  The player and speakers showed in the slightly open pouch, so she set up a playlist of romantic songs she’d made for him and hit play.

Heather Dale sang of another June and another wedding as Chris slipped into the cool waters, beckoning to Kili.  Kili lost his clothes as quickly and followed her.  He undid her plaits and braids, running hands in her hair.  She unbound his beard, tugging the fine hair, eliciting a groan of pleasure.  The two twined together in a dance older than either of them, old as the world.  The water warmed pleasantly as Chis peaked near orgasm.  Kili groaned at the heat warming tired muscles.  The pleasure was slow and building for both of them, waves crashing over them like air from a bellows blowing forge heat at them. Time lost meaning, as did thought.

When sensibility came back, Chris felt Kili braiding her hair as she floated in the warm water.  She let him finish whatever statement he was making, then turned in his arms to add a thin fishtail braid to his temple on his primary bow draw side.  She wove her love and her dedication to him into it, claiming him as firmly as had she tattooed Property of Christiana on his forehead.

Emerging from the water, the warmth clung to them.  They dried and redressed as the music switched from Only the Music to Old Souls.  She sang it to him as he replaced her beads and clasps.

“And I feel like we’ve been here before,” she sang into his hair as she affixed wet leather string to the fishtail behind his ear.  She added another to the other side, tying it off with a bit of the same strip of leather she wet in the lake.  “Knowing each other since I don’t know when.”

“Our love is still strong as it ever was then,” Kili finished with her, kissing her as the track ended.

They circled the lake as stars emerged in darkness, meeting Gimli by the sacred spot of Durin’s crown.  The group waited as the two watched the magical waters.  The Dwarves stared and gasped, Kili going pale.  Chris moved to his side.  In the water, Glorfindel, a whirl of pale lightning and pure light of a thousand hues, fought the shadow and flame of the Balrog, it’s whip destroying his ground as he danced away, buying time for his companions.

“Gandalf, get up the path into Moria,” she said woodenly.   “There’s a Balrog at the bridge of Khazad-Dum.  Glorfindel is stalling, but he can’t defeat it.”

Nodding, he swiftly ran up the path.  Aragorn looked conflicted.  She saw the deep question he would not ask.  “Aragorn, take our group south and lay camp to hold wounded.  Kili, Gimli, we need to help evacuate the others.”

Aragorn did as she said, the two Dwarves followed her up the path.  They met Ulthas and Suladân first, each holding a half-smothered bundle of Hobbit.  The path was stable, so after assuring herself that Merry and Pippen could breathe, Chris directed them to Aragorn.  Up in the dead mountain, she sliced a goblin across the gut and kicked it into a crevasse, before intercepting Théodred.

“You aren’t guarding your back,” she said calmly.  She remembered her first battle with Dwalin, the fear and numb terror, and she saw the same in the young Rohirrim Prince.  Dwalin had turned it into lessons, so she did the same, adding advice and dry wit to the battle.  She did track Gimli grabbing Elrohir and Elladan by the belts to keep the Elven twins from falling as they hit goblins in ridiculous trick shots.  After their quivers emptied, the burly Dwarf hauled them back to the exit made by Kili and Stonehelm whirling in a complex longsword dance fight that tossed back opponents from the edges and let their allies through a gap only another blade dancer could see.

Gandalf reached the bridge and threw down his speech that had been impressive in book and movie, but in the moment only struck Chris as a way to stall as she and Théodred pulled back to the entrance.  The Balrog raised its whip and Chris cried a warning, but it came down solidly on the stone at Glorfindel’s feet.  He fell sword out and down, aiming his fall.  Gandalf gaped a crucial moment, turning his head and crying out as the whip flew up, “FLY, you fools!”

“RUN!” Chris grabbed the attention of everyone she could touch enough to get their eyes off the burning whip around the stone.

Out the crumbling tunnel, Chris checked Théodred for injury, while Kili did the same to a blank faced Thorin Stonehelm.  Her patient wasn’t hurt physically, but he seemed to be in post-battle shock, limply letting her check him over, staring at nothing.  It broke her heart, but some were not meant for the battles that Kings had no choice but to send them into.  She got him standing, looked to Kili, who was helping the limping younger Dwarf.

“Twisted his knee wrong.  He’ll be fine.”

“We left them.  We left Glorfindel and Tharkûn behind.  _Left_ them,” Thorin the younger snapped.  “What honor may we claim now that you have dragged us away from those who needed us.”

“This is _war_ , Thorin,” Chris said with a voice hard as mithril, though low and quiet.  “Wars are nasty, uncomfortable things that make you late for dinner and give you choices like do you want honor, or do you want to keep living?  If you feel like committing suicide, ending your father’s line, and placing the Iron Hills in a state of civil war from all the lords trying to grab the power left by your death, go on back in there and jump in a fiery pit.  Go die in a glorious fire, Stonehelm.  I’ll see to your tomb “Here would lie Thorin the third of his name, called Stonehelm if he actually _cared_ about _anything_ but his own vainglory, but at least he died doing the _honorable_ thing.”  Not the smart thing, because that would be letting the two people who have actually fought Balrogs and won stay behind to kill Durin’s Bane, so that my daughter can lead our people home when we win.  I want to win.  I’m not in this for funsies, we’re fighting for keeps here, Stonebrain.  That means accepting their choices and the fact that their abilities are better suited to this task, so we can do what needs must be done elsewhere.  Now, Kili, Théodred and I are going to camp.  You do what you do.  If you can’t hold in your irrational anger at not dying in a glorious death-charge in check, you’ll do our cause more harm than good.”

“She’d be right, there,” Kili said with a hard look.  He moved to her side and let Thorin’s knee buckle.  “How’s the manling?”

“Battle shock.  We need to get him to the fire.”  They turned, and Thorin Stonehelm called out to wait.  They shared a look, did rock-parchment-dagger where he could see, and Kili went back, his rock being beaten by Chris’ parchment.

Back at the camp, Sam was stuffing extra food in Merry and Pippin, who were showing the signs of deprivation.  Aragorn was tending a cut on Suladân’s cheek as Legolas poured tea into Ulthas, the signs of resetting a joint clear in the gap of a ripped tunic sleeve.  Chris called to switch with the Elf, and he seamlessly moved from the pain-cranky Eastern Lord to the battle shocked young Rohirrim.  She pulled small stones from the ashen edges of the low fire that had been placed to grab heat and filled a flat leather packet to lay on the aggrieved joint.  The sound Ulthas made was sinful.

“If I weren’t very secure in our marriage, Kurdinh, I’d be worried.”

“If I weren’t caring for an injured man, Mamarralun, I’d whack you one.  Be useful or be silent.”

“I’ll just walk a patrol, shall I?”

Ulthas looked at her strangely.  She knew how marriage worked in the East, she was no stranger to the concepts he must have grown up with.  She let him stare and said nothing.

“You love each other very much, don’t you?” he asked her finally.

“With every mote and fiber of my being,” she said before removing the pack and testing the swelling, to a hiss from Ulthas.

“I can see.”

“I have to say that surprises me.  I know your grandfathers.  I know of their wives and culture.  I doubt the patterns of several ages changed over a mere handful of decades.”

“I also know people.  I know our people who fight alongside Dwarves, I know a few Dwarves myself.  I have been told I may claim the name Dwarf-Friend if I have need.  I have seen those I learned to be Dams in battle.  General Katla is a dear friend to me.  I know of love between Dwarrow.  You love each other as plainly as you love this land.  You are rare, not among just women, but among all.  You love Arda more than any I have yet to meet.  You love him in that same way, with passion and friendship and the willingness to slap him for being slow to think and quick to speak.”

“Did your grandfathers ever tell you about the cookie incident?”

Ulthas shook his head and as she forced more medicine in his tea and ointment on his shoulder, she told him of using chocolate for the forces of good.  And vengeance.  He laughed, then shook his head and began to droop.  There was a bedroll waiting, and she lowered him onto it and tucked him in.

Suladân chuckled.  Chris glared at him.  “What?” she asked.

“Only the Sabi Rose,” he said, “would drug a man while telling him about his ancestors acting like angry chickens.  Only you, would strong arm a lasting peace in the most unsettled of lands that has not known peace before, using Tiakar Bean.  You are a special one.  If I did not know what you would do to me if I did, I would ask to take a place as Second Husband.  Even Second Husband would be a high honor if the Wife were as strong and special as you.”

“But you do know what would happen.”

“Why do you think I have not given you gifts of honey or eye-paints?  In envy I may be, stupid I am not.  Sleep you well, Sabi Rose.”

Kili returned and she did sleep well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The songs mentioned are:  
> Choose, by Heather Dale  
> Only the Music, by Heather Alexander  
> Old Souls, by Heather Alexander
> 
> You can find all three on youtube.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are revised, stories told, and some of our heroes move back towards the light.

The next day dawned red.  “Blood has been shed this night,” pronounced Legolas.

“No shit, Sherlock,” Chris grumbled at him.  “We saw that happen.  Save the Elvish pronouncements for when nobody else knows what you’re talking about.”

“Kurdinh, drink some more coffee, you’re a troll in the mornings.”

“We must decide our next steps,” Aragorn said to draw away attention from the grumpy woman slugging down a batch of over-night coffee, hideously strong.  “Our paths were never meant to cross, and your illusions will have shattered when….”

“When Glorfindel and Gandalf died, you can say it,” Merry told him.

“Not dead yet,” croaked Chris.  Why did she have to start getting a sore throat now?

“What?”  Thorin Stonehelm yelped.

“I don’t know about Glorfindel, he already pulled this stunt, so I have no idea if he could do it again, but Gandalf isn’t all dead.  Mostly dead, maybe, but that is still partly alive.  And where there is life, there is hope.  He will be severely delayed, and plans should be made on the premise that he cannot rejoin us until he does rejoin us, which will be at the most inconvenient and melodramatic moment possible, because this is Gandalf we’re talking about.”

“Yes, well, we still have no idea what to do now that we’ve joined the groups, do we?” asked Pippin.

Chris grunted and took her pack to a rocky enclave at the foot hills.  Kili followed to guard her as she pulled the precious tablet and solar charger out.  She tapped the screen and pulled up two timelines side by side.  She entered a few notes on the lower track then compared the top and bottom lines.  She powered down the tablet and arranged the charger on the outside of the pack to better grab light.  They returned to a full on argument, and Chris rubbed her head.  Stupid colds.  She coughed, mostly to get attention, but her lungs decided that was a fantastic idea and she wound up coughing up half a lung while everybody stared.

“Our timeline moved up.  We resolved the Council more quickly than anticipated, left in November, not December.  The enemy moved up too, the Crebains weren’t scheduled until the eighth of January, but they struck us a month prior to that.  We’re on mark time-wise, but everything is early.  The next step was originally heading to Lothlorien and Caras Galadhon.  There is aid there, but I don’t like how the enemy keeps anticipating our changes.”

“What do you advise,” asked Aragorn.

“You are twice my age, bucko, you do the work.  You’re going to have to lead a kingdom someday, start by leading us.”

“Within Lothlorien, the enemy cannot see us.  Much like Rivendell.  Powers are held in those places, two of the three untainted rings,” Legolas said.  “My father may have complained of the unfairness before.  Repeatedly,” he finished, aggrieved.

“Thranduil, whiny? I’m shocked, simply shocked,” Kili dead-panned.

“Aye, never heard of such a thing, an Elf, an Elvenking, no less, getting their pointy ears in a twist over something so material.  Can’t be true,” added Gimli solemnly.

“Stick a leaf in it, both of you,” Legolas snapped with no real heat.

“Perhaps in Lothlorien,” began one twin.

“We can resume the same divisions,” ended the other.  Chris suppressed a shudder and was thankful Nuli looked different enough from his sister that they couldn’t do that quite as eerily.

“Or,” said Pippin, “we switch it.  Disrupt the pattern.  Somehow, it seems the enemy got his hands on the Princesses recipe book and is using her own scones against her.”

“OH, HE BETTER NOT HAVE TOUCHED THAT!”

“Pip, you idiot, she’s a cook!  Never use the scone metaphor with cooks!” Merry scolded.  “Remember the pie incident with Missus Gamgee?  Cooks are scary.  No offence to your ma, Sam.”

“No, I remember the pie incident.  She’s terrifying.  Prob’ly have to go stay with the Elves, not sure I want to face her when we go back.”

“I believe we have wandered from the point some ways, master Hobbits,” Aragorn reminded them.

“I say we get the Sabi Rose to the fortress of our enemy and tell her he has her Tiakar cake recipe hostage, then back away to avoid being hit by flying rubble.”

“Very funny Suladân, very funny.  Aside from momentary panic over my scones being used by the forces of evil, I think Pippin had a point.  If we change the rules mid game, we regain surprise as an ally, simply because they can no longer predict us.  Like starting a game of chess and then switching to checkers without warning anyone.  Suddenly all those well laid plans and traps are pointless.”

“And how, exactly, would we do that?” asked a groggy Ulthas.

“We split up to avoid one big group,” Pippin said.  “So we leave this Lothlorien place in one big group.  We had Frodo carry the evil bit of shiny because he’s strongest against it.  But he’s not the only Hobbit.  He has a resistance, but even healthy people get sick if they stay cold and wet enough, so why don’t we set a rotation on who has the coin?  If we never hold it more than a day at a time, we’ll all get rest from it.  Frodo may be a Baggins, but he’s also got Brandybuck and Took in him, as did Mister Bilbo, and I’ll wager no gold that’s not corn nor taters is going to turn a Gamgee head.  We do everything backwards, and no-one will know what we’re doing.”

“That sounds a bit mad,” offered Théodred.  “But the madness of Hobbits has saved my life once or twice by now.”

“He’s a Took, they specialize in crazy like a fox,” Chris told him.  “I’m pretty sure the plural is a ‘madness of Tooks’ actually.”  Looking to Aragorn she silently acknowledged his leadership.

“We head to Lothlorien and Caras Galadhon.  We can rest and plan more there.”

“It’s a two-day trip, everyone have their supplies and gear?” Chris checked.  Nods were seen and she spotted Sam pulling her bacon fat trick for Merry and Pippin.  Merry pulled a face.

“Eat, you’ll need it,” advised Frodo around the breakfast wrap Legolas had given him to nibble on.  “We’ve been doing it, it’s not second breakfast, but it helps.”

“An’ he’s the one who’s lost some appetite,” Sam told them.  “Picks at his food, it’d give Missus Sackville-Baggins conniptions.”

Chris snorted.  “Lobelia Sackville-Baggins is going to have more than conniptions when this is over.  Assuming we’ve taken a path closer to one of the previously seen ones, rather than complete divergence or nearer the other, she’s also going to have some rights to a battle braid.”  She started to walk, compelling Merry and Pippin to follow to hear more.  They didn’t seem to even taste the fat.

“She’s a Hobbit, correct?” asked Kili.  “I don’t think she’d want it.  Bilbo never accepted our offers to show him how to craft his.”

“Maybe not in hair, but if we did a thread of gold or something we could easily give the honors due to those who earn them yet are not Dwarves or Dwarf-Friends.  The braid would be the same on a medal ribbon or some other award as in a beard,” Chris commented as she walked.

“What’s a battle braid?”  Merry asked, and she could almost see the Nazgul-killer in borrowed Rohhiric armor.  She smiled.

“A way of showing one’s competence in battle.  Specific braids mean specific things.  Some mean you faced even combat, some mean you survived a much larger force.  You don’t always wear them, but having earned them you can wear them when you like.  I could, for instance, plait my hair to show I have done battle against an enemy of superior power and lived, and have been able to since the Battle of the Annex.”

“Which one’s that?” Pippin screwed up his face.  “Tooks keep good records, even of strange things outside the Shire, like battles.  I don’t remember it.”

“2944th year of the Third Age, I don’t know the conversion to Shire reckoning, two years past Bilbo’s return, anyway, a force of Elves of Mirkwood and Dwarves of Erebor joined in battle with a host of dark creatures, Orcs, Goblins, Ungoliant spiders, other…things.  We were only slightly outnumbered as best we can tell.  Then, the Nine came to the field,” Chris said with a shuddered breath.  The panic the mention of them had inspired was a faded old thing now, but it was still a less than fun memory to pull upon, even though she knew it to be one she needed to recount if Merry was called upon to do what Eowyn could not, or to encourage her if needed.

“The Nine Riders?” Frodo asked with the same brittle resolve.  He’d seen them too.  Faced them.  Suddenly conveying their weakness was less than practicality, it was to help one who hurt as she did, from seeing something so fundamentally wrong.

“They did not yet ride.  Nine shadows, yet no doubt of what they were.  I met them on the field.  I forbade them a place in this world which I love.  I taunted them with their own weakness and arrogance.  Not killed by any living man, _hah_.  There are plenty in this world who are not of the Race of Men, and of that race, only _half_ are men.  I, for instance, am no man, but instead a woman.  That seemed to rattle them some.  I wasn’t as well trained then, in swords.  It’s a bit of a miracle I survived long enough to tweak their shadowy incorporeal noses.  But I did it with a strength they know nothing of and cannot counter.  I love my home; I love my friends.  I love Kili.  I really really love Kili, so I proposed.  Then there was a bright light and all the evil fled or burned.  I fought, and against all odds, survived, in a battle against the Nine.  Thus can I wear a battle braid for that.  Kili can wear many more, but his hair is impossible.”

“I had heard you dislike the telling of that story,” Théodred commented.

“Not my best memory, even if I did get betrothed with it.  The days that the mention of them caused me to shut down ended over a decade of my own life past.  The mind is remarkable, and you _can_ heal from such things, sometimes.  Other times, you cannot, you can only learn to live beside it.  I’m not sure if I am fully healed, or merely complacent to the annoying houseguest that is my memory of the Nine.”

Frodo made a short chuffing noise she thought was a laugh.  “I wouldn’t call them annoying houseguests.  Annoying houseguests spill wine, talk too loud and steal your spoons.  The Nine are… they’re….”

“Trumped up ghosts in black bedsheets like some whiney emo teen who listens to bad music about death and screams ‘You don’t understand, nobody understands my pain’ when all you asked was if they wanted butter or jam for their toast,” Chris said tartly.  “Hold no respect or fear for them, that’s my principal method of handling it.  All the things I’ve called them, crusty Romero wannabes, undead squatters, so minor-league Bill Murray shrugs, dogs, overdone trash.  The only way I handle the very fact they exist in the same universe as my children is by insulting them.  Often and creatively.  To their faces if need be.  Stupid dried out market fruitcakes that they are.”

Frodo laughed and it was definitely a laugh.  Chris saw Boromir staring in awe and smiled at him.

“Sometimes, those of us who were at the battle come up with new insults.  Usually as a drinking game, but we’ve not enough alcohol if we wish to include Legolas to play it here,” Kili said.

“No, but I have fruit-jerky,” Chris said.  “Most ridiculous name gets a piece, sound fair?”

“I’m in,” Legolas called.

Soon the whole group was in on the bet, names ranging from ‘nasty ol’ click beetles’ from Sam, which prompted all the Hobbits to burst out laughing, to ‘Karoo lizards’ from Ulthas which got a bark of laughter from Gimli.

“I’m never gonna be able to look at one now without seein’ that teeny little thing bristling all its tiny spikes before turning and running away into some loose rock, now,” he gasped.  Ulthas slapped his shoulder. 

“I think that was the point, friend.”

“It was,” Chris explained while laughing.  “You laugh at the scary thing; it becomes not as scary.  You make it ridiculous and impossible to look at without laughing; you help others see it as not scary.  In the end, these phantoms need your fear.  Don’t give it to them.”

“Boggarts.”  Chris looked at Aragorn.  “The legends of Boggarts say they feed on fear, but die in the face of ridicule.”  Chris had a sudden flash of a spider losing its legs and Alan Rickman in a really fantastically ugly hat, and burst out laughing.  Some things were the same in all legends.

When they made camp, she split the fruit jerky among her companions evenly.  They were all grateful for the sweetness of the treat, even Frodo with his appetite dwindling and Théodred who had seemed quite content in his carnivorous habits prior to departure.  Boromir, who really had offered the most lack-luster name, shadow bags, shot her a questioning look at having dried and flattened peaches pressed into his hands.

“You tried.  You’ve been working hard at not becoming what I feared of you.  Like I said in the pass, I value getting shit done.  You’ve done that.”

“I’m still not free of it.  The desire to take it home, to win glory for Gondor.”

“But you are aware of it and choose to fight it.  And I think we both know well the words ‘win glory for Gondor’ are not the words of General Boromir.  They are the words of Steward Denathor.  Next you battle the impulse, ask, is glory, all the honors and accolades you could ever imagine and more, beautiful women throwing themselves at you, men buying you ale simply so they could say they had, is that worth losing Faramir?  If you could have _everything_ you ever dreamed of wanting and then some, would you buy it with your brother’s life?”

“Never!” he hissed, pulling back as though burned.

“Right answer.  Do not become your father, Boromir.  Do not become the man who sends kin to die and then tries to finish the job himself over something as pale and ephemeral as glory.  Glory does not make you dance to a song you fear, because it knows you will enjoy the dance.  Glory does not listen when you need to vent your ire with patient ears.  Glory does not smack you one when you’re being dim.  Glory will never love you.  Your kin, if they be true kin, will.  By blood or oath or battle, true kin will do all that and more.  Now eat.  You’re too thin.”

“You sound like Hama,” he groused, but he ate, and Chris settled down by Kili to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group makes it to Lothlorien, Chris has had it with Elf-Dwarrow enmity, and a larger group is introduced to Galadriel.
> 
>  
> 
> Some lines borrowed or modified from the book or movie.

They woke the next day with a touch more enthusiasm, if they moved quickly enough, real beds could be had that night.  She compared notes with Ulthas and Suladân on what they encountered.  They hit the snow-blocked Redhorn Pass, wolves, and all the dangers of Moria.  The Crebains had bypassed them to attack the Fellowship, and as yet, only the fellowship had been attacked by orcs.  There was no true pattern to the division of hardships if it was indeed Saruman’s hand at work.  He had no idea where the ring was.

Their march moved swiftly, the longer legged members sometimes ranging out to the sides of the group to clear the perimeter, and then sometimes carrying the less sturdy Hobbits.  The three Dwarves refused such aid, until Chris noted how much slower they were moving than the Tall Folk.

“Suladân, my legs are too short for the pace we must set, I would ask you carry me.”

“Of course, Sabi Rose.”  He knelt briefly and she hopped on him piggy-back style.  Kili squawked and she stuck her tongue out at him.

“Get your own tall person, this one’s mine!”

Soon Kili had badgered Legolas into carrying him, and Gimli hung on Aragorn’s back.  Thorin Stonehelm held out longest until Ulthas rolled his eyes and scooped him up in both arms, muttering about stubborn stone-brained fools.  They made much improved time.

As the sun hit its zenith, Chris noted the group flagging in its pace.  They were already being tracked, and had plenty of daylight to get to safety, if they picked it up.  Sorting through her mind she found a good marching song.

“Hear the miners strike the rock

Set your paces as you walk.”

“ONE TWO,” shouted Kili, Gimli and Legolas.

“Hear the smithy’s anvil ring

Set your paces as you sing.”

“THREE FOUR!”

“Miner, Smith, Warriors all

Answer me, the cadence call!”

“ONE TWO THREE FOUR!”

“To the Left, Left, Lefty right-o left right

Left Left keep it in step now

Feel the drum of marching feet,

Set your pace to match the beat.”

“ONE TWO,” she heard more voices join her friends.

Feel the weight upon your back

Set your pace to ease your pack.”

“THREE FOUR!”

Crafter, Guide, Warriors all

Answer me, the cadence call!”

“ONE TWO THREE FOUR!”

“To the Left, Left, Lefty right-o left right

Left Left keep it in step now

See the ground go passing by

Set your pace until you fly.”

“ONE TWO!”

“See the cohort armored strong,

Set your pace keep marching on.”

“THREE FOUR!”

“Blade, Bow, Warriors all,

Answer me, the cadence call!”

“ONE TWO THRE FOUR!” all sixteen voices answered her in unison.

 “To the Left, Left, Lefty right-o left right

Left Left keep it in step now.”

“Hey, Kurdinh,” called Kili as the march faded.

“Yeah, Mamarralun?” she answered him.

“Why did the chicken cross the field?”

“That’s obvious, to get from the right to the left, left, left right left!”

Cackling with laughter, and trading really bad jokes and songs, they picked up pace and hit the edge of the forest as twilight descended on them.  They kept going, content they’d be noticed soon enough.

She recognized Haldir, the leader of the Elves sent to them as she was finishing a rendition of ‘That’s what Bilbo Baggins hates!’ with Kili and the Hobbits.

“Those Dwarves are so loud, I could have shot them in the dark.”

“So, carefully, carefully with the plates,” Chris ended in a drawl.  Tapping Suladân he let her down.  Walking up to Haldir, she fixed him with her ‘I know exactly who got into the sweets’ look.  “That, Marchwarden Haldir, is a rather poor way to introduce yourself if you don’t want to die.  Or be known as a _bad host_.”  All four Hobbits hissed.  “Whichever you find most corrective.  Also, you made the mistake of using the plural.  This last song had but one Dwarven voice raised.  Kili, lower your bow, egg.  We’ve discussed this.  I am not Nori, you are not Dwalin, standing behind me weapon drawn isn’t all that helpful to my brand of diplomacy.  If I want a weapon, I’ll take one.”  The Elves raised eyebrows at her statement made entirely without looking behind her.  “Sorry about him, itchy string finger, you know how it is.  Honestly, one day without mortal peril and he gets antsy.  No wonder our children joined Ereboran Army and Intelligence.  If Nuli turns out a normal, hard-crafting, average Amlâkhuzd, I’m taking credit.  Princess Christiana, of Erebor.”  She bowed the right amount.  “You must be Haldir, Orophin and Rúmil, pleasure to meet you.  I know you want to blindfold us, but I really wouldn’t, because well, my husband, Prince Kili, he’s…” she made a show of looking around and stage whispered “ _claustrophobic_.” 

“AM NOT!”

“Sweetie, you had a panic attack when you tried going into the vent tunnels to retrieve Megis, I had to send Nori after her so I could get you breathing right.  After being trapped in a barrel under a bunch of dead fish, I don’t blame you.”

“Well, you’re scared of shadows,” he added a little petulantly.

“As you and your kin are so fond of reminding people, I scolded living shadows once.  I’m scared of centipedes, millipedes and all other things with more than eight legs.  Creepy bugs.  My husband’s phobias aside, there’s another reason you shouldn’t.” In her peripheral Gimli shot her a hand-sign relay from Legolas.

“And why is that?” Haldir asked. 

“You three are alone, we are many and I have three Elves with bows at your back.  Haldir, you fell for one of the classic blunders, you got into a discussion with a Kiwi when friends are on the line.  Drop the blindfolds and take us to Galadriel.”

“You will not get away with this insult.”

“Your boss can take it up with my boss.  He lives to the west of here, over that big water thing you all don’t want to talk about.  I’d name it, but I _like_ my Elves and I don’t want to spook them.”

“Kind of you, Galad Seron,” said one of Elrond’s sons.  She needed to figure out a way to keep them straight.

A smacking sound was heard in the forest.

“Oh, bugger it all, he used that in arms reach of Legolas.  Idiot.  Pardon me, I need to go get my elf before he kills one of the loaners.  Elrond is gonna flip if I let his kid get strangled because he has a bad sense of humor.”

“Ach, I’ll do it, I got the trick years ago,” Gimli said and moved noiselessly off into the forest, returning with Legolas and the twin who presumably had called her Lover in Light tucked under each arm by the head and armpit as he dragged them.  “Where do ya want ‘em?”

Chris quirked a brow.  “Seriously?  Your trick is a two-sided half nelson?  Gimli, they could get out of that at any time.  Stop encouraging him, Legolas.”

“I think it’s fun,” he said, slipping from the headlock.  “He drags me around and I don’t have to walk.”

“Aren’t you like a billion or something?  Why am I the mature one?”

Haldir blinked at her.

“You still have one, very mischief prone, heavily armed Elf running loose.  Blindfold his brother, I dare you.”

“Um, Kurdinh, my darling one, if they’re anything like Nuli and Hama, that’s going to end bad.  We do want our guides alive come morning, yes?”

“Fine.  Take us to your leader,” she intoned at the three.  Haldir must have decided discretion was the better part of valor, for he turned and led them.  Legolas and the son of Elrond struck up two separate conversations with Haldir’s brothers, who didn’t speak enough Adunic to follow what had happened.

In Caras Galadhon they were met by Galadriel.  She turned worried eyes over them.  “Nine I saw set out, but these are not they, or some may be, but others lacking.  Tell me, where is Gandalf, for I much desire to speak with him again.”

“Nine?” whispered Legolas to Elladan.  Chris finally remembered which one had worn a green tunic that morning, there had been a squabble in the way siblings do.  “Glorfindel is stronger than I thought.”

“Gandalf,” Chris said a little loudly to get the Elves back on task.  “Remained in Moria, alongside Glorfindel, who was responsible for hiding our second cohort.  If I might introduce our company, my lady?”

The Elves around them whispered frantically and Galadriel nodded.

“My cousin, Aragorn, son of Arathorn,” Chris bowed lightly to him.  “Friend to both Elf and Dwarf, fair and noble of heart.”  Aragorn bowed to Galadriel.

“My lady, it grieves me I cannot bear you better word, but know that my cousin Christiana is wise beyond years, and speaks of Gandalf with hope.”

“My friend, Legolas, son of Thranduil, Elf of Greenwood, Dwarf-Friend and battle kin to myself and my husband.”

“It is an honor, my lady.”

“My husband, Prince Kili, of Erebor.”  The noise level went up perceptibly.  “Elf-friend and father of three.”

Kili clasped her hand.  Galadriel tilted her head.  “You speak of the heart and deeds of others, but of your own husband you but count your children.”

“Two girls,” Kili said proudly, “and a set of _twins_.  It’s my biggest accomplishment in Dwarven protocol.”

“Stop being smug,” Chris told him.  “Théodred son of Théoden-King, Second Marshal of the Riddermark and Horse-Lord of Rohan.” 

Théodred bowed in awe and stammered some remark.

“Thorin Stonehelm, scion of the Iron Hills, superb blade dancer and loyal unto a fault.”

Thorin grunted.  Chris rolled her eyes.

“Elladan and… somewhere Elrohir,” the Elf dropped silently to the ground.  “Are the sons of Elrond of Rivendell.  I have witnessed them in battle, they are… enthusiastic.”

“She means reckless,” muttered Gimli.

“Hush, I’m getting to you.  Suladân, called the Black Serpent, Battle captain of a, Mumakil correct?”

“Yes, Sabi Rose, but you can say Oliphant, the accent is difficult.  A pleasure, lady of star-light.”

“Ulthas, representing the Coalition of Eastern Men, of a long and impressive lineage, known to my most trusted General and called Dwarf-Friend.”

Ulthas bowed low in the sweeping style his people favored.

“Lord Boromir of Gondor, who earned honor in the siege of Osgiliath, true is his heart’s intent.”  She moved on quickly before he could say anything about her assessment.  “Gimli, son of Gloin, warrior of Erebor and Elf-Friend, personally responsible for our ability to rescue our other cadre from Durin’s Bane in the halls of Khazad-dum.”

“I….”

“Oh, _now_ you’re struck dumb?” Chris hissed at him.

“Fair were the many-pillared halls of Khazad-dum in Elder Days, when I walked beside the kings beneath the stone.”

“Yet today, though it be winter, more fair is the living land of Lothlorien and the Lady Galadriel is above all the jewels that lie beneath those stones.”

“I’m telling you father,” Legolas whispered.  Chris restrained the impulse to smack him.

“And lastly, but most certainly not least, our Hobbits.  I present Frodo Baggins the Enduring, Peregrin Took the Perceptive, Meriadoc Brandybuck the Constant, and Samwise Gamgee the Brave.”

“I have heard of Hobbits,” Galadriel said with calm interest.  “Your land lies near the Grey Havens.  But I have never met one.”

“Well, we do tend towards hearth, home and a good meal,” said Frodo.  “The last to leave of his own desire was my Uncle Bilbo.  He came back a bit… odd.”

“He was always odd, or he’d never have left,” asserted Merry.  “Had I known before what I should see, I’m not sure I’d have had the heart to leave.”

“And he’s the Brandybuck,” said Sam.  “I’ll be the furthest traveled Gamgee since the Wandering Days.  Oh, if my old gaffer could see me now.”

“And your titles, how have you earned them?”

“Oh, you mean the Perceptive bit and all,” said Pippin.  “We haven’t done them yet, except Frodo, he’s been doing some enduring, but us others haven’t got there yet.  But what the Princess says shall happen, often does.  Foresight, don’tcha know.”

“I too share a measure of that.  It is not without toil.”

“I survive, Lady Galadriel.  We were hoping for beds and a place to plan our next leg of the journey.”

“That can of course, be provided.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Teaser:
> 
>  
> 
> "Do not discard hope so quickly, you immortal nihilists. Cling to it, as would a vine to the rock that holds it up to the sun, for it will keep you alive as surely as the sun keeps the plants growing. Now, I have a head-ache and I need to either plan or kill something. Which I do depends upon how you take my advice.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memorials, songs, scoldings and plans end with a departure and a gift.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To Winkerpie, poetikat, Gryffe, i11iad, tigrislilium, for kudos. and to Gryffe for commenting.
> 
> NaNoWriMo has eaten my soul, so this is on hiatus until I recover.

They fell into their beds as soon as they were guided to them.  Chris didn’t know if Frodo met with Galadriel in the night, but she suspected he had.  She noted a sort of bow-string tension in him.  They gathered in silence for the first meal in the towering Mallorn tree that served as a castle.  Chris ate, analyzed her food, and decided it wasn’t worth angling for the recipe.  Maybe it was exhaustion.  After the meal, she excused herself to lie down.  She fiddled with track listings she might need, bumping them higher on the lists so she could readily access them, and closed her eyes.

She woke to Kili poking her arm.  “Get up, there’s a feast, I think.  Someone decided Gandalf is dead, despite your reassurances, so they want to mourn him.  Which means a solemn feast and sad songs.  It’s strange.  Even Legolas finds it odd.”

“Oh, no they don’t.  Give me a moment.”  She donned the clean white gown they’d provided for her stay, put all her royalty braids in and bound the mass up in a knot with her defensive hair-combs.  She set a new track at the very top and went to this mournful wake.

The Elves sat in tall chairs at a long table, while others circled, singing in Sindarin and holding candles like for a vigil.  Sam asked Legolas about it, but his response was now more pragmatic.

“They sing for Gandalf, as they believe him dead.”

“And what do they sing of him?”

“I have not the heart to tell you, for I refuse to abandon hope where it is offered.”  He looked at Chris.

“Dead is a process thing for servants of the Valar.  It probably won’t stick.  I got killed by weaponized cake once.  I got better.”

“How, and more importantly, why, would someone weaponize a cake?” Frodo asked looking perturbed.

“Blast powder and some form of automatic detonation, probably weight based.  Remove enough cake from the platter, and pop goes the Princess.  It was assassins.”

“You seem very relaxed about that,” commented Celeborn.

“Like I said, it didn’t take.  I’d be less sanguine if it had worked, but no-one caught in the explosion died.  Permanently, anyway.  Can you ask them to stop singing, the pitch is high and my head hurts.  I think I’m getting sick.”

“Really?” Kili perked up.  “The last time you said that, we had the Twins!”

“Different symptoms, Kili.  I think it’s nasal.  And it’s affecting my ears.”

“I cannot order them to stop singing out their mourning and their grief,” Celeborn told her.

“Then let me sing my sentiments, and they may hear my feelings.  I did witness it.”

Galadriel nodded and the tree fell silent.  Chris pressed a button and waited for the opening words.

“They think I was a fraud  
They think that I was a fool  
They think that I was old and odd  
They don't mean to be cruel 

 

They think that I was feeble,  
That I cost more than I could ever give  
They don't see how they need me  
How I help them all to live 

 

They don't know they need  
They don't know I serve  
They don't know I keep them safe and free  
They don't know they need  
They don't know I serve  
They don't know, and that's how it should be 

 

They know there's no alarm  
They know that they are right  
They know that they can hide from harm  
That they won't have to fight 

 

They know just how to thatch a roof  
Or keep a garden tilled  
They know they know, oh they're sure they know  
And it just might get them killed 

 

They don't know they need  
They don't know I serve  
They don't know I keep them safe and free  
They don't know they need  
They don't know I serve  
They don't know, and that's how it should be 

 

They don't know that this life was not my choice  
Or of all that I've had to give  
That if I was brave enough to fight and die  
I must be brave enough to live 

 

They don't know they need  
They don't know I serve  
They don't know I keep them safe and free  
They don't know they need  
They don't know I serve  
They don't know, and that's how it should be 

 

They don't know, and that's how it must be,” her voice trailed off and she heard Legolas still singing, the translation into Sindarin for those who didn’t know the common tongue.  As he ended it, a murmur rose around her.  Standing tall, Chris turned and looked at every Galadrim she could lay eyes on.

“I have seen, a white wizard in Fangorn.  Not the traitor, a true White Wizard.  I have seen him call forth the Lord of all Horses to ride unto Rohan.  I have seen him upon a hill, daybreak at his back, leading forth a charge the likes of which had not been seen before.  I have _seen_ Gandalf return.  I know that it shall happen, for his work here is not yet done, and I stand as living proof that the Valar to not part lightly with tools they have found useful.  By any rights, I should be dead, or living a happy life in my home with my children who have their lives ahead of them.  But no, I’m here, my eldest is a Commander and a Hero of Osgiliath who endured a siege, my youngest is a paired Flight Partner to an Eagle of Manwë who doesn’t talk and snaps Crebain necks like she’s done it before.  And Mahal only knows what happened to my baby boy…”  She held in a sob, the silent sadness shaking her as badly as if she’d let the sound escape.  Pulling herself up and together, she tightened her core and squared her shoulders.  “Mark me well, Galadrim, for I speak with the voice of one who has endured much to ensure your safety, as much or more than the bit of shiny upon your Lady’s finger.  Gandalf IS. _NOT. **DEAD**._   He goes to places you can neither see nor follow, so you mourn him, so sure you know what he is.  So sure in fact, that it might just get you all killed.  Do not discard hope so quickly, you immortal nihilists.  Cling to it, as would a vine to the rock that holds it up to the sun, for it will keep you alive as surely as the sun keeps the plants growing.  Now, I have a head-ache and I need to either plan or kill something.  Which I do depends upon how you take my advice.”  She sat down.

“And now I know how you ended a blood-feud that allowed my parent’s marriage,” Ulthas remarked.

“If we’ve all gotten the dramatic statements out of the way, can we please, please plan our next move, I want to know which direction we travel other than ‘south’,” Aragorn said, aggravated.

“The Anduin was a logical choice,” Chris said.  “But I don’t know if we should stick to it.”

“Water runs much faster than any walker,” Théodred said.

“And faster still a rider,” Chris finished the saying from Rohan.

“Would there be enough boats to be had?” asked Thorin.

“B-boats?”  Frodo looked a little green.

“Damn, I forgot.  I’m sorry, Frodo, I didn’t mean to cause you distress.  Cousin, I believe we ought look to boat-less solutions for travel, there’s some issues vis a vis Hobbits and boats.”

“Perhaps some could take boats, and others ride,” offered Suladân.  “We split our force before, the enemy has no reason to think we shall not do so again.  I have seen both maps and the banks of the Anduin, the maps would lead you to believe there is no cover to hide riders, but the maps are wrong.”

“Huh,” said Pippin.  “That could work, plan stopping places aforehand so we don’t lose each other, ride either horses or boats until one won’t work.  We can put me and Merry together in the boats, since they’re looking for hobbits, and neither of us has issue with water.”

The plans progressed quickly, and soon they split up, but not before Galadriel handed out her gifts.  They were the same for all of the Fellowship members, although Boromir and Aragorn who would be traveling with Merry and Pippin in the boats got extra bags of lembas and knowing looks as well.

Elladan and Elrohir were given matching swords, Suladân a box he seemed to recognize and bowed deeply over, Théodred a healer’s kit of salves, and Ulthas a new kit of armor, and then Galadriel stopped before Chris, Kili, and Thorin.

“I admit I do not know what gift I might bestow that would be of value to those so far from my own.  Lord Gimli has asked and received, I bid you now to do the same.”

“Arrows,” Kili said without hesitation.  “I always run low and collecting them is a pain.”  Galadriel waved forward a handmaid and passed him a sturdy quiver.

“It is enchanted to never run out of arrows, nor to drop them.”  Kili took it with great awe.

Thorin Stonehelm grumbled, but did admit he’d dropped his whetstone in Moria.

“And you, singer of prophesy?” Galadriel asked Chris.

“Tell my story.  Sing my song.  That would be the greatest gift you could give.  I am mortal, with short years, but Elves live forever.  I have been told, one is never truly gone until they are forgotten.  What I ask is great and powerful, but I do ask it.  Grant me the immortality of memory.”

“It shall be as you say.  Fare all of you well upon your journey.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song is They Don't Know, from Owlflight: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8IeQO8lg5P4

**Author's Note:**

> My tumblr is bairnsidhe.tumblr.com
> 
> I also take fic commissions, drop me a line if you want a long fic written for you, or a guarantee of specifics and delivery time. Short prompts are free, but I chose when/if I get to them.


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